Connecticut western news., 1887-06-15
THE PRAIRIE FIRE.

A few evenings ago party of North - western cattlcmcn wcrc grouped together in the rotunda of tho Merchants Hotel, which has romance enough in it for the foundation for novel:
 It was in '75 or '76, I don't remem- Der which, was in the cattle business in the Indian Territory, below Medicine Lodge. I had shipped drove of cattle to Kansas City, driving them from the Territory to Wichita, Kansas, and de- cided to continue on the main line of the road to Hutchinson, from which place I would take horse and ride down to the territory. The distance from Hutchinson to Medicine Lodge was about ninety miles, which could be reached by a hard days ride.
 By daylight tho next morning l was in the saddle and riding south. The day had been unusually warm and I%,had been riding rather slowly, with a view of pushing on faster when it had become cooler. A breeze sprang up from the south and gave my horse tap to urge him on: but not minding the whip he one which we had been going. He ap- pcared to be uneasy, but supposed this was caused from thirst. The sun had gone down and the wind was increas ng, bringing with it faint odor of burning grass. As it grew dark I could sec a flickering of light at distance, but thought nothing of it. It was not long, however, before I discovered the cause of the horses uncasiaess. Stretching from right to left, apparently in a semi circle, was streak of fire, and I at once realized that was in a dangerous position.
 There was no way to escape except to turn back, and I was 10th to do that. l stood still some time undecided what to do. It would be foolish to think of try ing to break through this sweeping wall of fire. Turning the horses head in the direction from which we came let him have the reins. He needed no urging and covered the ground in fine style. looked back, and was dismayed to sec that even as fast as we were going the fire was gaining on us. Giving the horse a sharp cut with the whip he gave a lunge forward, but fell, throwing me over his head. He had stepped into a prairie dogs holc and broken a leg. Seeing that he could go no further drew my revolver and ended his life.
 The fire was now less than a mile from me, coming before terrible wind, the flames lcaping high in the air. By the ligLt could see small hill few hun dred yards away, and my only hope was to reach that, perhaps finding shelter on the opposite side. I put forth my best efforts, but before covering half the dis. tance I could hear the roar of the flames and feel the heat, while the smoke was suff1cating. Making terrible effort kept to my feet for few seconds more, and then consciousness left me.
 When I awoke it was morning, and bending over ma was a young woman. Remembering what had passed through, my first impression was that was dcac and in-well, where we all want to ge some time. But I soon found out my mistake, and discovered that was in cave dug in the side of a hill. In flying from the fire my last step had brought mo to the door, and, falling, had forced it open. The young woman was ir great distress, and told mo that she feared her husband had been caught ir the prairie fire. She told mo her histor, very briefly, saying that she was ar orphan, had been married but shor time, and came from the East with he husband to make home. Her husband had left her alone two days before, hay ing gone to the nearest town, and sht had expected him to return the evening before. Hastily eating what she had prepared, we started in search of tn, missing man.
 The scene was desolate one, as far a the eye could reach being a sea of ashes We had gone a little over a mile whel we found the charred remains of tn woman's husband. left her watchin. over him while hunted up a habita , tion, and securing assistance we burict